Remember how I'd smoke after school outside your classroom window watching you pack up your briefcase, pulling your arms through your blazer sleeves? Four cigarettes in a ring between my thumb and fingertips,
an "okay" sign. You preferred jean dresses with the hips cut out, knee-high fishnet socks, my hair wrapped curiously in bandana red with my eyes outlined in black.
I stole condoms and Twinkies, brought them to your apartment after you'd call to unwrap me
like penny candy on the mattress in the middle of your floor, each tear in synch with the teeth of your zipper releasing.
A green wrapper and an empty trash can next to my book bag. You licked your fingers after the last bite.
To my 11th grade math teacher and all who came after me.